Hannah and the Chocolate Factory
by Jean Armour
Summary: Full summary inside!
1. A Twist in More than One Fashion

**A**_** Twist in More than One Fashion**_

**_Summary:_** Hannah Kate Whidby is an eighteen year old girl who ran away from a complicated life in America when she was sixteen. She now lives with the Bucket family, who unfortunately, can hardly make ends meet. She still has hope that there is a chance that her life, as well as the Buckets', might still be able to change for the better. That chance has increased when Hannah finds Wonka's last golden ticket! She, and the other four children who found the tickets are lead around the factory by the world famous chocolatier, Willy Wonka, himself! As she explores the chocolate factory, and learns of it's many secrets, she slowly finds herself falling in love with the mysterious candy man! As she tries to hide her feelings, Wonka actually might see these feelings she tries so hard to hide. The only question is: will Hannah come to her senses, or will these feelings be reciprocated?

...

(BTW, please make it clear to yourself that this INDEED is the Tim Burton version. And that there will be no Charlie Bucket.)

I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

...

Some of you may know this story by heart. A story you hold near and dear to yourself. But, I beg to contradict by means of the ways of the story, to tell my own version...  
...

It was my eighteenth year. My eighteenth Autumn, to be precise. Supposedly, I should have been celebrating to now have the supposed title that gives one the rights of self worth, the title, "Adult". Or perhaps, a "Grown up".

I didn't feel like a grown up, despite my body that made me feel, externally and internally, a woman beyond doubt. But, in my head, and in my heart, I longed to be a child again. To be absolutely unaware of the negative effects the arrogant side of humanity had upon my life.

Why must I seem so downcast? A simple answer, I'll give...

I was a coward.

Yes. I was indeed... a _coward. _When I was sixteen, I no longer had the strength, the patience, to put up with the life of a dark-minded teenager. I was different from everyone else. I knew that. No one understood me. No one! Not even the people I had known, and had sought out for their trust, their understanding. But, none of them could.

I had a dark mind. Not like that of a person with goals and objectives meant to do harm upon others. No. It was not that kind of darkness. Ever since I was a wee thing, I had this preposterous habit of seeing nothing but darkness everywhere I turned. Such darkness, many a time, it was remarkably beautiful. Many a time, it was mysterious, and led me to desirable attempts to reach deeper into said darkness, to see where it would lead me to next. But unfortunately, I could never reach it. Either way, this darkness had separated me from the real world.

As a result, I decided to run away. Only temporarily, so I could somehow rid myself of the darkness that cluttered my mind and soul. Unfortunately, my foolish, immature act of false independence and false sense of security led only to worse things. I never left a letter. No note. Nothing. My family would have no doubt learned of my cold feet soon after I left. And so they did.

I dare not give the details of my family's reaction to my leaving. Leaving the state is one thing, but skipping out of my country...

America... land of Liberty, and Freedom. Yes, of course. But, how could such a country keep such a promise of freedom when freedom is far beyond the grasp of many people? Not to mention that Liberty was not exactly what I would call our hospitality.

I dare not talk more of my family now, let me move on to more recent matters...

I had indeed skipped out of America, to London. I had planned, as pointed out before, to not stay forever. Until the realisation sinked in that I had no means of work or lodgings planned, or set up for myself for when I would arrive.

Simply put, I live here in London. I am probably one of the more lower class people around here. Needless to say, it was grandly difficult to find someplace that would hire me. But, no one would. Actually, I had some light in my life. A week after coming to London, I was beyond lost. No one would give me directions as to where I could go for lodgings. If you think people in America were rude...

But then, a kind woman of thirty five found me, and brought me to her home. She was happily married to a man a year older than herself. Their names were Emily and Rodger Bucket, and they by no means had any children. From what they told me, Mrs. Bucket is unable to have a baby. I couldn't help but feel heart sore for them both. To be frank, they hardly were able to pull through, money wise, yet they still wanted a child. I couldn't blame them for feeling that way. A child could brighten up your life in more ways than one.

Mr. Bucket worked at a toothpaste factory. The hours were long, and the pay was terrible. Mrs. Bucket stayed home, as any wife would do if they were unequipped to proceed further, career wise.

They allowed me to stay with them in their small, lopsided house on the outskirts of town. It was terribly drafty, and their television wasn't the best in the world, but it was all better than nothing.

Now, if you want to know what I do for a hobby, I write. I'm a poet, if you can imagine. With Robert Burns being my inspiration/idol. Actually, as of now, Robert Burns wasn't my only mean of inspiration. No. In fact, there was another...

The world renowned chocolatier... Willy Wonka.

I had been surprised to learn that there was so much about him I didn't know about, that everyone else did. I had eaten a few of his bars in the past, mostly his Wonka Whipple-Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight. That was my favorite! I very rarely got excited over chocolate. But truly, I LOVED it! I just always steered away from it to avoid serious face acne.

But now, since I can't afford to buy some of his chocolate, I haven't eaten actual candy in a few months. The Buckets gave me a Wonka bar every year on my birthday, which was in late June. My birthday was this Summer, and that was the last my time I had any chocolate. Soon, they decided to make it a small custom.

Now a days, I spend most of my free time right outside the chocolate factory gates. Oh, that factory. It reminded me of the darkness that still lingered in my mind and soul. Beautiful, mysterious, and never failed to send a shiver down my spine just looking at it. Sometimes, I SWEAR I can hear sounds coming from inside the factory. Was that something to be proud of? I didn't know.

I had heard so many things about the factory, and why it closed off twenty years ago before opening up again. THAT was something told to me by Grandpa Joe, one of the four parents of Mr. and Mrs. Bucket. Mrs. Bucket's father, to be exact. Both of their mothers and fathers lived with them. Although, all four were bedridden. The moment the Buckets brought me home with them, both sets of their parents warmed up to me right away. When they realised I was a singer, and a writer, they wouldn't hesitate to ask me to show them my work, or sing for them.

All four asked me to call them by "Grandma" or "Grandpa" and then by name. For example, there's Grandpa Joe, Grandma Josephine, Grandpa George, and Grandma Georgina. I noted to myself that each partner's name was the male or female version of that certain name, and I couldn't help but smile when I first realised that. The coincidence. I remember them telling me to call them that since they could not have grandchildren. So, basically, I am practically their granddaughter.

Grandpa Joe was the one to tell me of the factory and the many secrets held within, that he actually knew of, of course. But, he wouldn't hesitate to talk about Willy Wonka. Apparently, he used to work for Mr. Wonka. _Fascinating! _I always thought.

He'd tell me how they made chocolate birds, by placing the chocolate bird egg on their tongues, and the eggs would hatch! He also told me of the event of Prince Pondicherry, and the colossal chocolate palace! Mr. Wonka had received a letter from his royal highness to come all the way out to India, and build him a colossal palace... made entirely out of chocolate! After it was built, Mr. Wonka warned the Prince that if they didn't start eating, the palace would not last long. Unfortunately, Prince Pondicherry did not heed Mr. Wonka's warning, and so soon afterwards, there came a very hot day with a boiling sun! I'm sure I do not need to tell you what happened afterwards... But the entire castle melted!

After this, the Prince sent an urgent telegram to Mr. Wonka, requesting a new palace. But, little did he know that Mr. Wonka was having problems of his own...

Candy sellers had grown terribly jealous of Mr. Wonka, so they began sending in spies to steal his secret recipes.

Soon, thievery had gotten so bad, that one day, without any warning, Mr. Wonka told all of his workers to go home! He announced that he was closing his chocolate factory, forever.

...

As I sat there, my legs crossed as I wrote in my journal, I glanced up at the factory countless times as I attempted to draw it. Indeed, I was not the best drawer in the world, but my work was actually quite decent, much like my poems.

The snow, as it fell, would land in my long, wavy golden brown hair, and melt into it. My hair was down then, even though I should've had it up in case any hair were to fall in my eyes while I was drawing. Then again, I don't see why I'm complaining, my bangs would give me enough trouble, as I frequently had to brush them out of my face.

My drawing was almost complete, but something was missing. I had everything I could see in the drawing: the factory, the sky, the gates, the few birds that frequently flew over the factory. I realized that I was missing the smoke that Rose from the chimneys. So, I lightly shaded in the spaces above the chimneys in my drawing with my pencil, attempting to make it look like smoke.

Finally! After about a month, my sketch was done, and it was perfect! I looked at it, and then at the factory, and everything in my drawing was precisely perfect. I was proud, but it was getting dark, and cold. No doubt the Buckets will be wondering why I was late.

But, to sum it all up, I, Hannah Kate Whidby, was the luckiest girl in the world.

I just didn't know it yet...


	2. A Personal Achievement(Family Moment)

**_The Personal Achievement &amp; the Family Moment_**

_And fare thee wheel, my only love,_

_And fare thee wheel awhile;_

_For I will come again, my love,_

_Though it were ten thousand mile..._

I finished singing to myself as I walked up to the gate attached to the pathetic little fence that surrounded the Bucket house. I always felt at peace when I sang a Robert Burns song, or read his poetry to myself.

I gently pushed the gate open, and walked up to the door.

"Oh, you're just in time, darling." I heard Mrs. Bucket greet me.

I gasped and turned to see her all bundled up in her shawl, carrying a medium sized basket half full with cabbage she took from the small garden.

"You're just in time. We're getting supper started."

"Cabbage soup?" I inquired with a chuckle.

"Same as always, I'm afraid." She answered with a chuckle of her own.

Yes. We ate cabbage, ALL THE TIME. It was all we could manage. Mrs. Bucket grew it in her small patch, so it was all we could eat. Not to mention that it used to make me gag at the smell of it, but I eventually got used to it. I also got used to the small portions, making me skinnier than I had ever been in my life. But, I still managed to find ways to build a little more muscle to even out my now deathly slender form.

I lead Mrs. Bucket inside, opening the door for her. We entered, and I had a sudden rush of warmth flow over myself.

"Hannah? Did you finish it?" I heard Grandpa Joe ask in an expectant, happy tone.

"Yup! I FINALLY finished it!" I answered with a smile.

"Alright then, let's see it!"

I did exactly as he said. I took the folded paper out of my journal, unfolded it, and handed it to grinning Grandpa Joe. He studied it, and Grandma Josephine looked at it as well.

"Don't hog it!" Grandpa George said impatiently.

Grandpa Joe handed it to Grandpa George, and Grandma Georgina stared at it the way Grandma Josephine did.

"What is it, again?" Grandma Georgina asked.

I smiled. Grandma Georgina had a small mental issue. Nothing serious. She just often said crazy things. Things people wouldn't understand. I just laughed most of the time. Most of the time, I don't even think _she_ knew what she was talking about. But, she was still loved, and she still loves everything nonetheless.

"Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, Grandma Georgina," I chuckled, "I've been working on this drawing for a little over a month now!"

"While I still think drawing is an impractical habit, you still have some talent, my dear." Grandpa George complimented.

Grandpa George...He...He's not the most optimistic. He's often putting us down when we try to think positive, and he'll tend to over-analyze the hopelessness of the situation. In other words, he's a lot like the opposite of Grandpa Joe. Grandpa Joe is nothing BUT an optimist. But, I still love him. He loves me like the granddaughter he never had, as well as the others.

"It's absolutely perfect." I heard Grandpa Joe whisper.

"My sketch?" I asked.

"Indeed," he started as he glanced over his shoulder to peer out the window at the factory, and he stared fondly, "I remember when I was able to go beyond those mystifying gates, and step right inside." He said, his eyes were full of longing, and he continued staring, as if in a dream.

"Well, now you don't. You can't, and you never will! Those damn gates NEVER open, and I highly doubt they EVER will." Grandpa George snapped, breaking Joe free from his little trance.

"I'm sure one day, Mr. Wonka will let SOMEONE into his factory. I'm sure of it." I said dreamily, I was staring out the window much like the way Grandpa Joe was, only I was able to stand right at said window, and gaze out without trouble.

"See what you're doing," George snapped at Joe, "Now you're turning the girl into a worthless daydreamer like you!"

"Don't listen to him, Hannah. Daydreamers are the best sort of people. In fact, Mr. Wonka was quite the daydreamer, as well." Joe reassured me.

I looked over my shoulder to look at him. I looked at him curiously.

"He was?" I asked.

"Well certainly." He answered, smiling.

"He was." Josephine agreed.

"Did I ever tell you about times when he would sit with me on the benches set outside for workers when they wished to relax? He wouldn't stop staring off into space when we spoke. It's like his mind was never in the right place at the right time." Grandpa Joe commented.

"No. What would he be dreaming about? Did he ever talk to anyone about his them?" I asked.

"No. But, you know, when it came to that man, he'd often at times just stare at me, and he'd look as if he'd have something extremely important to tell me, but then...he'd just...stop dead. It's like someone had taken his voice." He frowned.

At that, I was a little disappointed. It would have been nice to know what sort of things went through Mr. Wonka's head. I would have pictured things like: candy canes that changed a flavor every other lick; or sprinkles you put on ice cream that changed color.

I continued.

"I was thinking of possibly drawing Mr. Wonka as a matter of fact, but I don't even know what he looks like." I said, seeming sort of downcast.

"Oh, really? Maybe you can my dear, after all, since I used to work for him, I saw him most all the time." He said, smiling.

I smiled.

"Of course, I was a much younger man in those days. My memory of his appearance is all too faded. But, if you'd like to hear a couple more stories..."

"Oh, here we go again." George grumbled.

I looked at him, he was looking at Joe, and he rolled his eyes as he tried to get in a more comfortable position to nap in. I myself sat on the edge of the bed on Joe's side, and listened intently.

"Now, my dear..."

...

"Willy Wonka began with a single store on Cherry Street twenty years ago. But, the whole world wanted his candy." Joe started.

I remembered Joe telling me about times when Mr. Wonka would show Joe how to make chocolate birds. How jealous I was the first time, that Joe got to help Mr. Wonka, and I still am.

"The man was a genius," Joe continued, "did you know that he invented a new way of making chocolate ice cream, so that it stays cold for hours without a freezer. You could leave it out in the sun a whole afternoon, and it wouldn't go runny."

"But that's impossible!" I commented.

"But Willy Wonka did it!"

I couldn't believe the things leaving his lips! I had never heard of eternal ice cream until that point in time. I wondered then what flavors of it he made...maybe cookies and cream!

"Before long, he decided to build a proper chocolate factory. The largest chocolate factory in history! FIFTY times as big as any other!"

_Wow!_ I thought.

He then told what he and Josephine did when the gates of Wonka's new factory opened...and they cared to show me exactly what...and so they kissed!

It was cute, but...

"Grandpa, don't make it gross!" I winked.

He only smiled at me as they broke the little kiss.

"Dear, tell her about the Indian Prince. She'd like to hear about that." Josephine contributed.

"You mean Prince Pondicherry," Joe remembered, "well, Prince Pondicherry-"

"Oh, hush! You've told her that story already!" George grumbled.

"It's alright, Grandpa George. I don't mind. I've always loved this one."

He obviously wasn't in the mood for listening to Joe's stories.

"Please, Grandpa Joe, continue."

"Wonderful. Now, Prince Pondicherry wrote a letter to Mr. Wonka, and asked him to come all the way out to India and build him a colossal palace made entirely out of chocolate!"

I smiled; Georgina laughed quietly across from Joe.

"True to his word," he went on, "the bricks were chocolate, and the cement holding them together was chocolate! All the walls and ceilings were made of chocolate as well. So we're the carpets, the pictures, and the furniture."

My eyes left Joe, and they traveled to the window. Soon enough, I had stood up and slowly walked over to it. And so, I leaned on the window sill, staring at the factory in a hypnotic-like state. The funny thing about it, I was still listening, and I didn't realise I did that until my grandparents got my attention!

"Hannah?"

"Dear?"

I was hearing voices; I broke out of my trance and looked over at Mrs. Bucket who spoke last.

"What's wrong?"

"Why are you there?"

"What do you mean? I'm right by Joe."

"No, Dear, you're at the window." She smiled.

I instantly looked down, feeling somewhat stupid.

"Don't worry, Hannah," Joe spoke, "twenty years ago, I would do the exact same thing."

"He would." Josephine agreed, and smiled.

"And sometimes I would even sleepwalk!" He earned a nod from Josephine.

"Enough." George whispered as his eyes slowly closed.

"And so," I continued his story, looking out the window, "Mr. Wonka warned the Prince that the palace wouldn't last long if he and his Princess didn't eat it soon. But in the end, Pondicherry payed his warning no heed. Then, there came a very hot day, and the palace collapsed down around them both. Pondicherry then sent Wonka a telegram requesting a new palace. Unfortunately, Mr. Wonka was already troubled with spies stealing his secret recipes for his candy. And that's what led Mr. Wonka to close the factory oh so many years ago, correct?"

"Correct. Twenty exact years ago."


End file.
